


Titles

by erhwrites



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Hero Worship, Identity, Implied/Referenced Sex, Light Dom/sub, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erhwrites/pseuds/erhwrites
Summary: love, identity, power dynamics, vulnerability, and the names that are not their names.(This belongs to I Damn Well Mean to Try but was posted first)





	Titles

_"Lord Commander,"_ she says, and smirks. She's teasing him, as she often does, and no matter how well he knows her tricks he falls for them every time. The way she uses his titles make them sound like something else entirely, and the words cease to make sense. Titles of status, of authority, but over her? Meaningless, ultimately, and she knows it. He commands his army, he speaks to steer the direction of his nation and to influence its people; and there, outside of these walls, the titles find their meaning. But now he is here, beyond their reach, and she uses the title as if to challenge him. He accepts, as always, after enduring the heat of her gaze as long as he possibly can, struggling to resist until he is physically unable. He follows her into the dark, chasing a taunting and confident prey. His hands find her, and she makes noises that bewitch him, and she says it again--his name that is not his name.

She knows the chase is over but she sets his blood on fire with the words and he can do no more than speak her own name back to her to render her powerless. He turns her tricks around on her: he calls her by her name, and he calls her by the names others call her. _Godslayer. Flamebringer. Savior of Ishgard._ These names he whispers in her ear, against the back of her neck, into her mouth as he kisses her. There is a part of him that relishes in the feeling the words give him. His voice is both teasing and reverent as he overpowers her, in whatever way he may be--a smirking affirmation that she is completely at his mercy, wrapped around his finger. Yet there is an air of worship, an acknowledgement that the title is hers for good reason, that she deserves to hear it as praise. For all the lives she has saved (his included) she could strike him down just as she did gods, men, and adversaries beyond recognition. He knows that she could bring the entire place down in flames around them with the lips that tremble in anticipation, that she holds the fate of countless souls in the very same hands he pins to the bed. It's a power trip, he admits it, but it's a power she willingly gives again and again until there is none left in either of them.

And he knows she loves it just as much as he does. For all of her strength, all of her control, it is only his spell she longs to be under. She gasps and cries out in rapture as he teases her, as he takes her, as he knows nothing more than the taste and the scent of her. In his arms she allows herself to be merely flesh and bone, for it is the only place she feels safe to be so. He knows this, too, and amidst the haze of their lust he marvels at the opportunity to know her in this way--the way no one else knows her, stripped of her titles and their burdens. Her only allowance of helplessness is at his touch, and the gift of her vulnerability is one he continues to disbelieve he deserves. Scars in her past have made her trust not easily won, and yet to him she has freely given it.

He has earned it, she corrects him, as she fondly recounts the admission that she did not trust him at all when they first met. When they met they were naught but their titles: _Ishgardian. Commander. Politician. Scion. Bringer of Light. Defender of Eorzea._ He put a face to the names and all of the outlandish stories, a face he never expected to see when he closed his eyes, or when he woke. He reaches, grasping at tangled hair and skin slick with sweat to bring this same face to his, and her eyes are bright and wild. She can see right inside him, as she always has, but her eyes no longer question him as they once did--she has no more questions to ask, for she knows who he is without his titles. He knows her, too. He knows her only as he does in this moment: he hears only her ragged breath, feels the heady air almost hum in his ears as she clings to her last shred of control.

With three words he convinces her to let go, to finally abandon her power. This name is not her name, yet it is the one she is most often called. A title spoken in relief, in excitement, in skepticism, in rage, in fear, he speaks now against her lips to undo them both. He orders her surrender and she obeys, and as they both are unmade the words still burn in his mouth: _"Warrior of Light."_


End file.
